


His heart is Pyrite (but his hands are made of shaking, of please, please, please)

by Atlanta_Black



Series: And it's fucked up, but I'm falling verse [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Asexual Character, Asexual Draco Malfoy, Character Study, Depression, Draco is struggling but he's getting there, F/M, I made myself sad, M/M, Post War Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Soulmates, and then we descend back down into angst, author is bad at using tags, ha, i said it was the poly trio you never expected, no betaes we die like men, soft feels at random points
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:01:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21544177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atlanta_Black/pseuds/Atlanta_Black
Summary: The war ends.Ends not with the Dark Lord splayed on the floor or Potter's eyes staring blankly at the sky. Ends with a whisper so quiet sometimes Draco wonders if it really ended. Wonders if he isn't going to wake up, the Dark Lord still walking through the manor like a ghost, Nagini draped over his shoulders. To his Mother's drawn face and his fathers shaking hands.The war ends and Draco finds himself sitting aimlessly in the manor waiting. Waiting for what he couldn't say. Maybe for the aurors to show up, wands drawn, ready to drag him off to Azkaban where he belongs. Maybe for Potter to show up, eyes narrowed with righteous fury. Maybe forthemto show up to saywe do not want you, will never want you, your tarnished soul, your hands dipped in sin--
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy/Ron Weasley
Series: And it's fucked up, but I'm falling verse [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1521761
Comments: 12
Kudos: 125





	His heart is Pyrite (but his hands are made of shaking, of please, please, please)

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is!! The fifth installment in this lovely series. This one somehow ended up even longer than the original oneshot. Mainly because I failed to realize how much trauma this boy had. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this!! This is kind of a view into what is happening directly after the war. I say kind of because Draco is out of it for a lot of it and not paying attention really. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!!!! <3

The war ends. 

Ends not with the Dark Lord splayed on the floor or Potter's eyes staring blankly at the sky. Ends with a whisper so quiet sometimes Draco wonders if it really ended. Wonders if he isn't going to wake up, the Dark Lord still walking through the manor like a ghost, Nagini draped over his shoulders. To his Mother's drawn face and his fathers shaking hands.

The war ends and Draco finds himself sitting aimlessly in the manor waiting. Waiting for what he couldn't say. Maybe for the aurors to show up, wands drawn, ready to drag him off to Azkaban where he belongs. Maybe for Potter to show up, eyes narrowed with righteous fury. Maybe for _them_ to show up to say _we do not want you, will never want you, your tarnished soul, your hands dipped in sin--_

He wakes up screaming. Wakes up with Hermione’s screams ringing in his ears and red eyes burning holes into his skull. Wakes up to images of his mother lying dead on the floor, eyes vacant. To Potter staring at him, eyes accusing. To Ronald screaming, screaming, screaming —

Wakes up screaming, shaking, sobbing, clawing at his arm, clawing at that stupid fucking mark. 

He's still waiting. Sometimes he passes his mother, sitting on the patio and staring at the sky. Eyes blank and distant in a way he's never seen. Passes his father leaning against a door frame, staring into a room as if he's never seen it before. 

They told him that this war would make his family great. Would make them better. They were all liars.

No one ever shows up. Not the aurors with their self righteous anger. Not Potter, hand clutched around the wand that had picked Draco at eleven. Had picked _him_ . Had chosen _him_ . Not _them_ , eyes full of pity and hands clasped together. 

No one. Malfoy Manor stays empty except for the three of them. Some days he wonders if they even count as people anymore. If they aren't really just ghosts left to haunt the manor alone. He doesn't feel real most days. Isn't sure if he would even remember to eat if it wasn't for the house elves still dutily putting food out onto the table.

The idea that the house elves are still there, still going about their work doesn't really hit him for a while. It's only been two weeks since the war ended but he hasn't truly been paying attention to anything around him. He's been sleeping when it was dark and eating when there was food on the table. Been waiting, waiting, waiting--

He accidentally catches sight of a house elf one day though, turns a corner at just the right time and the elf freezes, eyes wide with terror and something in Draco's chest clenches, splinters, breaks. For a moment all he can see is her fucking eyes staring at him accusingly. All he can hear is her screams and the _you do not deserve us, will never deserve us, you with your hands dripping blood, you with_ —

He frees all of the elves. Gathers up his gaudiest, most expensive robes and marches down to the kitchen, chest aching the entire way. The elves all freeze when he enters, eyes wide and terrified and he forces himself to breath around the splintering in his chest. 

He drops a robe on every single fucking one of them and they all slowly poke their heads out from under the robes to stare at him. Their eyes aren't terrified anymore but they are still wide and staring at him in confusion and awe. 

There's a drawn out moment where they all stare at each other, Draco's chest heaving as if he's just run a mile and them with his robes in their hands. A moment where he feels more real than he has in weeks.

The moment ends and half of them apparate away immediately. The other half stand there, blinking large eyes down at the robes in their hands. Draco stares, waits for them to leave but slowly, slowly they all drape the robes around themselves in a strange pattern that makes no sense to him and go back to work. 

"You're free." he chokes out, voice hoarse. He doesn't know how long it's been since he spoke out loud. "You're free why the fuck aren't you leaving?" 

The elves all turn to look at him again, eyes still large in a way that will never fail to unnerve him. One of them finally steps forward, the one wearing the robes his mother gave him for his eleventh birthday. Back from when the world made sense and he wasn’t a fucking disaster. Back from when he still believed in everything his parents said. 

"The young master has freed us yes, but we are old and do not know a life outside of this manor. Ipsy and his family will stay and continue to take care of the Malfoy family as we always have." the elf announces, drawing itself up to its full height. 

Draco blinks, swallows down the lump trying to form in his throat. "This is your family?" he asks softly.

The elf, Ipsy, nods glancing around proudly. "We have served the Malfoy family for ten generations. We will stay."

Draco blinks furiously, he was not going to cry over a bunch of fucking house elves. He gives a short nod and then turns and marches back upstairs. 

He doesn't go back down to the kitchens but he finds in the days that follow, that at least for a little while, he feels lighter. Her eyes stop haunting his dreams. 

⬷

Of course it doesn't last but it had been nice. Had been nice to not feel as if the weight of all his past sins were still threatening to crush him. Had been nice to do at least one thing right.

He's still waiting. He thinks maybe a month has passed at this point. He may have lost track at some point. Lost track in the strange haze that constantly follows him. 

There have been days where he hasn't gotten out of bed. Weeks where he does nothing but sit in front of the window and stare out at the gardens. At the sloping hills and the orchards still blooming. He doesn't know what his parents are doing and he finds that he doesn't care. His mother is too lost in the demons of her own failure to care about the child she had saved. His father is too broken to care about anything. 

He thinks maybe he's broken as well. Except that he still cares. Still cares so much it feels as if his chest is going to splinter into a thousand pieces. As if his ribs will splinter and pierce his lungs. He finds himself wondering what they're doing. Wondering if they think of him, if they can feel him missing, if they can feel his fucking absence like he feels theirs. 

They haven't come looking for him and he doesn't blame them. Why would she ever come back to this place? To the place where Bella, his aunt, had held her to the floor and carved into her fucking arm. To the place where he had stood by and watched. Where her soulmate had watched as she cried and screamed and begged. Why would she ever, ever fucking come back? _Your hands are dipped in blood, in death, you with your tarnished heart and broken soul. You do not deserve us, do not deserve me, do not deserve--_

She is beautiful. Is pure. 

"She is beautiful." he says aloud, voice hoarse. "He is brave. She is pure and loyal. He is good and steadfast." he repeats the words over and over. "She is crusader of the broken, the misfits. He is defender of the downtrodden. I do not deserve them. Will never deserve them."

He doesn't realize he's crying until the tears fall on his hands where they're clutching at his robes. "She is beautiful and he is brave. She is pure and he is loyal. They are both so fucking good. So, bloody fucking good and pure and I do not deserve them, will nev--" his voice breaks, the tears still streaming down his face. 

He curls farther into the chair, into himself. He didn't realize you could feel your heart breaking when you hadn't even yet had the chance to fall in love.

⬷

Time keeps passing. He keeps waiting. He still doesn't know what he's waiting for. Still isn't entirely convinced the aurors aren't going to show up to drag him off. Maybe they forgot about him and will remember soon. Maybe they're waiting for him to die in this house. In this fucking prison of a manor. 

He stops eating for a few days. Isn't sure he would have ever eaten again but one of the elves shows up, still wearing the robes he had thrown at them and stares at him until he picks up the fork and starts eating. 

He sits and stares out the window, watches the sun trace a path across the sky. 

"She has a mouthful of stars and flowers growing from her hair." he murmurs, watches the bird outside the window cock its head and stare at him. "He has eyes made of the sky and hands that hold nothing but forgiveness." the bird flies away. "I have a heart like pyrite and lies dripping like gold from my tongue. I am nothing. Nothing compared to the both of you with your purity and your sainthood." there's a different bird outside the window now. 

At least the animals don't fear him, don't hate him. At least the world itself is not turning itself against him. He wonders if they miss him? If they have wondered where he is? It has to have been a month by now at least. He wonders if they miss him…

⬷

He's laying on the floor of the foyer, staring at the ceiling and relishing the way the cold floor feels against his skin. Idly contemplating his latest nightmare when a knock on the front door rings through the house. 

He raises his head, stares at the door. Had he imagined that? Was this it? Had they finally come to drag him off? Come to drag his father off. Another knock rings through the foyer and he stands up, swaying slightly as the blood rushes to his head. 

This was finally it, the waiting was finally over. They would convict him and he would live and die in Azkaban. Would live and die with the knowledge that he was not good enough. The knowledge that he was wrong and evil sitting low in his stomach. 

He places a hand on the door handle, draws in a deep breath, now that the moment is here, it feels as if he should be quietly memorizing it. As if he should be watching it from afar, not truly a participator. He releases the breath, flings the door open. 

The first thing he registers is not the people standing on the doorstep but the fresh air washing over his skin. He hadn't been outside since he returned to the manor. Hasn't stepped foot outside the house and he finds himself blinking in shock at the way the sun feels against his skin without the glass to block it.

When he finally turns shocked eyes on the people standing on his doorstep he feels all the air leave his lungs. Wonders if this is what it was like in second year when Potter got hit by a bludger. It feels as if something has punched him in the stomach and left him gasping for air. 

_They_ are on his doorstep. She's staring at him, eyes wide and one hand covering her mouth. He's so pale that Draco imagines he could count every single freckle on his face from where he is standing. 

"Draco..." she whispers, voice trailing off in a horrified whisper. 

"What the bloody hell happened to you?" Ronald demands, voice harsh. 

He blinks, opens his mouth, shuts it, blinks again. They're on his doorstep. He looks behind them but there are no aurors. 

"Am I dreaming?" he hears himself ask, voice faint. She shouldn't be here. Shouldn't be standing in the shadow of this house. 

Ronald's mouth thins, lips going white with how tightly he has them pressed together. Hermione lets out a choked sounding laugh.

"No, no you're not dreaming." she says in a strangled sounding voice. 

He blinks down at her, feels his chest splinter. Why is he always looking down on her? "You shouldn't be here. Shouldn't be in this house. It'll chew you up again."

He's never seen her so pale. Ronald's shoulders have gotten steadily tenser with every word Draco has said. 

"Yes, I'm beginning to realize that we should have come much sooner." Ronald snaps out, shouldering his way past Draco. 

Hermione just keeps staring, eyes wide, hands clenched tightly in front of her.

"Can I-" she falters, swallows, starts again. "Can I touch you?" 

He blinks, hears his heart racing in his ears. She can do anything she wants. She is savior, is named for a Queen whose name is still whispered in myths. She could clutch his heart in her hand and he would say thank you. 

"Why would you want to touch me?" he manages to choke out, swallowing the rest of the words down. 

Her face crumples and he thinks for a moment that she's going to burst into tears. Feels something frantic rise up in his chest at the thought. She doesn't though, she sniffs and then draws herself up. 

"You're getting out of this house." it's not a question. "Where's your room so we can get your stuff?" 

"You can not come in this house!" he spits out, voice high, feeling hysteria crawl through his chest. 

"Why the fuck not?" she snaps, "It's just a house. Ron's already in there and you don't seem to care." 

"It will spit you out, will chew you up and spit you out. Turn the stars in your mouth to coal. Wilt the flowers, taint the soul. You are too good, too pure, too --" he cuts himself off, eyeing how pale her face has gone. 

"She can wait outside for us then." Ronald says, voice cutting through the strange air between them. "She can wait outside and I'll go with you to your room." 

He blinks, looks behind him to see Ronald staring at him, eyes like the sea, like the sky before a storm. He's still too pale. They're both still far too pale. 

"Come on, Draco. Lets get your stuff so we can all leave." Ronald says again, voice quiet and gentle and he has hands blessed with forgiveness. Has eyes like the sky. 

Draco breathes in, feels some of the fear leave his lungs. He nods once, and heads off towards his room. He can do nothing but listen to what they say. Do nothing but lay himself at their feet. He is broken, is splintered. Has a heart of pyrite and hands dipped in blood. He can do nothing but take what they give.

⬷

They go to the burrow. 

He doesn't know where he thought they were going or if he had thought about it all. But now he is here, faced with the doors to the house of a family that has hated him since he was born and he does not know if he can do this. Does not know if he will ever be strong enough for this. 

He glances down sharply as a hand slides into his. Hermione is staring up at him, eyes soft and worried. Another hand slips into his right hand he looks over to see Ronald staring back at him steadily. There is something like hope, like panic building in his chest and he wants to scream, wants to turn and leave. Wants to go back to the silence of the manor and the simpleness of drowning in his own self hatred. 

"They know you're coming, it's fine." Ronald says, voice gentle. 

Every time he hears that voice directed at him he wants to break down into sobs again. Wants to remind them that he doesn't deserve their pity, doesn't deserve this, doesn't deserve their skin against his. 

He doesn't say any of that. He takes a deep breath and nods. 

⬷

Molly Weasley does not hug him like she does Hermione and Ronald. She stands there and stares at him with pity in her eyes and worry creasing the skin around her eyes but she does not make a move to hug him. 

He is struggling to decide whether or not he is thankful for this. 

"Where are your parents?" she finally asks, voice betraying none of the pity in her eyes.

He blinks, tilts his head, blinks again. "At the manor of course. Unless the aurors have come in the past twenty minutes to finally drag them off." 

There's silence, all of them staring at him in muted horror. He is not sure if their horror is muted or if his perception of things are muting their horror. He's not sure of anything really. 

Perhaps this is all still part of the dream and he's still going to wake up with the Dark Lords eyes burning holes through his skulls. With Nagini draped across the Dark Lord’s lap. With blood still staining the dining room floor.

"They're in that house?" Hermione whispers and yes, that is definitely horror in her voice. 

"Yes." he considers the question again. "Or at least, they were in the house two weeks ago. I haven't seen either of them since then so I suppose they could have left."

He looks around at their faces and feels as if he's said something wrong. Ronald is staring at him, shoulders tense again and face still, _still_ so fucking pale. Hermione has a hand over her mouth again, eyes wide and shiny with unshed tears. Even Molly Weasley, a woman who has done nothing but stare at him with angry eyes his entire life is staring at him in horror. He feels like he's said something wrong but he doesn't know what.

⬷

They never tell him what he said wrong. They don't mention his parents again either. 

They show him a room that has Chudley Cannon posters plastered onto the wall and tell him he can sleep there. Ronald's cheeks go red and he assumes this must be his room. They show him the bathroom and the kitchen and the living room. They show him the backyard and the rundown shed in it. Ronald's cheeks stay that same red color for the entirety of the tour. They tell him that he'll be staying in the bedroom by himself. That Ronald is sharing a room with Potter and Hermione is sharing a room with the girl Weasley. 

He doesn't think he wants to be alone but he doesn't want to say that. He's not sure but he thinks they're doing him a favor and it would be ungrateful to ask for more when he is already undeserving of the things they're giving him.

⬷

Life settles into a strange routine that is at both the same as before and yet not at all. He still sleeps when it's dark and gets up when the sun does. Still sits and spends a lot of time staring out the window at the endless fields behind their house but now there is a constant bustle of activity around him. 

Molly sends him outside if he sits in one spot for too long. As if she thinks that sitting outside will be different than sitting inside. Or she'll usher him into the kitchen and show him how to cook. The first time Ronald walks downstairs, eyes still blurry with sleep, to find Draco cutting potatoes at the counter he freezes, eyes wide and something strange passing over his face. He doesn't say anything but he does walk by and grip Draco's wrist gently for a moment.

Sometimes, when he's sitting and staring out the windows, mind blank and fuzzy, Hermione will come and sit next to him. She always brings a book with her, usually something as thick as his head. The first few times she had sat and read quietly but eventually she starts reading out loud. He lets her voice wash over him like waves. Lets it sink under his skin and eventually he stops staring at the fields and starts watching her instead.

A few months pass in this way. He doesn't know what they're waiting for but he finds himself in this strange limbo where he knows that something is expected of him but he doesn't know what. 

Only knows that they all watch him with expectant, sad eyes. None of the other Weasley's interact with him even though they're there. Potter doesn't interact with him, seemingly preoccupied with his own issues. Potter and the girl Weasley, Ginevra, spend a lot of time away from the house. He thinks that they spend a lot of it at the castle, rebuilding from what he's heard. 

He tries to not think about it too hard, doesn't want to think about Hogwarts and his role in causing her to crumble. His hands stained in blood, his soul still tarnished from the deaths that happened in the castle walls, because he does not deserves this, does not deserve anything except for hatred, except for anger. 

Does not know how to tell them that he will never be what they want. Can never be enough for them. That even if he wasn't dirty, tainted, blood dripping from his hands he still would not be enough.

⬷

Life keeps moving on. It's October now and the air has that crisp feeling to it. The leaves are changing color and sometimes he finds himself idly comparing Ronald's hair to the color of the autumn leaves. They don't kiss or at least never where he can see. He finds himself becoming curious about their relationship with each other but he doesn't know if he's allowed to ask. Doesn't really know what he's allowed to do or why he's still free and not locked up in some cell. 

He wakes up one night, chest heaving and hair drenched in sweat. He must not have been screaming because no one has rushed into the room but he feels as if his heart is going to beat its way out of his chest. As if the Dark Lord is going to suddenly step through the door and be there. The idea of the Dark Lord standing in the room, surrounded by Chudley Cannon posters and peeling paint startles a hysterical laugh out of him and he scrambles out of the bed, heart still racing. 

He stands there for a moment, blinking into the darkness and then stumbles his way out of the room and down the stairs. Walks out of the house and stands in the garden, blinking in the moonlight. 

It's chilly outside, the air cold enough that he finds himself shivering in his sweaty pajamas. It's comforting in a way, the feeling of the cold air against his skin. He sits down on the ground, not caring about the dirt that he's sure will stain his pants. Sits down and tilts his head to the sky. Wonders if he'll ever, ever stop waking up with screams ringing in his ears. 

He hears the door open behind him and twists, expecting to see Hermione. It isn't her though, it's Ginevra, a blanket around her shoulders and another dangling from her hand. 

"Aren't you cold out here?" she asks, staring down at him, eyebrow cocked.

"Yes, I suppose so." he mutters, reaching out to accept the blanket she holds out to him. 

She sits down next to him, wrapping the blanket further around herself and he stares. 

"Why are you out here?" he finds himself asking. He holds her in no reverence, does not care if he angers her. 

"You woke me up with your stumbling." she says, not looking at him. "I figured you wouldn't think to grab a blanket."

He blinks, studies her. "Alright, why are you still out here?" 

She sighs and glances at him. "Why don't you ask Ron and Hermione this many questions?" 

He inhales sharply, "Excuse me?" he asks, hating how high his voice creeps. 

She sighs again, pulls her knees up closer to her. "You've put them on this strange pedestal that they don't deserve you know? They're not as perfect as you seem to think they are." 

He gapes for a moment before catching himself and snapping his mouth close. "What the hell do you know about it, Weasley." he spits, feeling that panic claw its way through his blood again.

She snorts, "More than you think. Also, you haven't been that great about keeping your expression blank. You watch them with fucking stars in your eyes and stare at them like you think they're going to disappear at any moment." 

He lets out a shallow breath. He hadn't realized he was being so transparent. He'd forgotten to school his expression while he was alone in the manor and it seems he hadn't remembered to start again once he'd shown up here. 

"I don't deserve them." he hears himself mutter, voice distant. 

She snorts again, shakes her head, eyes creased with amusement. "You're full of shit, Malfoy. You used to fucking hate them and now you think you don't deserve them." 

He blinks rapidly, no one has talked to him like this in ages. 

"Don't you remember why you hated them?" she asks, voice curious.

He thinks about it for a minute. Those days seem so far away that sometimes it feels like they never happened. He had turned seventeen and had his entire worldview flipped on its head as he stared into the mirror. Had pushed the thought of them so far down that he had nearly forgotten them all together. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, when he was sure that he was alone, he would pull the thought of them out and turn it over and over in his mind. Would find himself viciously hoping that they were okay. That they would _always_ be okay. 

He grew up always knowing that there was someone out there who would complete him. Someone out there who would be his in a way that no one else could ever be. He'd seen them in the mirror and that was it. You don't question magic. You only question your own past decisions. 

"Yes, I remember but it all seems very distant and unimportant." he finally says, watching her tilt her head consideringly. 

She hums quietly, stares at him for another moment. He wonders if her gaze had always been so heavy. 

"Has anyone explained to you about what happened at the end?" she finally asks. 

His breath freezes in his lungs and he feels suddenly as if he's going to faint. No, no one has explained but he knows. Knows more than they think he do. 

"No," he says faintly, voice thin. "No one has explained anything but I know." 

She narrows her eyes, "What exactly do you think you know?" she demands, shoulders suddenly tense. 

"He's not as dead as you all keep saying he is." he says, watches her shoulder tense further. "He's still out there and Potter knows or he would still be screaming for blood. If Potter knows it means that you, Hermione and Ronald all know as well. And yet none of you seem worried about it." 

She stares, mouth thin and shoulders tense. "I told them that you would figure it out but of course no one listened to me." she scoffs. "How long have you had this figured out?"

"I never stopped feeling him." he shrugs, "I thought for a while that I was going mad and then I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn't know what was real and what wasn't. After a few months here I realized the connection was still there and that I could still feel him."

She sighs, shoulders still tense. "I'm going to tell you this but you can not tell anyone else. Hermione and Ron already know but that's it."

He nods solemnly, surprised that she's going to tell him so easily. 

"Harry and I aren't soulmates." she says the words calmly, like she hasn't just uttered something terrible. "We chose each other because we share the same soulmate and at the time we thought he was unattainable."

She doesn't say anything else, just stares at him, face expectant. They share a soulmate. It's less a sudden realization and more a slowly dawning thought. The connection between the Dark Lord still being alive and her sudden talk about soulmates. 

"Merlin's pants." he whispers. "What did Potter do?" 

She bursts into laughter, the sound loud in the stillness. "Oh thank you, Harry gets so mad that we all automatically assume it's his fault but it's so true."

“Well of course it’s Potter’s fault. It’s always Potter’s fault.” he says smirking.

“We’re still not really sure what Harry did. He’s only half sure himself but he’s not Voldemort anymore,” she hesitates, something fragile in her eyes. “He’s himself. The boy from the chamber that tried to kill me but not really him either.”

Draco reminds himself that gaping like a commoner is really not a good idea. Wondering suddenly if he has any idea at all what happened to the trio while he was in school. 

“I have so many questions.” he mutters, trying to decide if any of them are really appropriate to ask. 

She snickers, “I would be even more worried about your mental state if you didn’t.” 

“Is he…” he hesitates, not sure how to ask this question. Not without sounding insensitive.  
  
She smiles, the look oddly gentle and out of place. “He’s sane. He’s not going to hurt you.” 

He releases a breath and feels a weight lift off his shoulders that he hadn’t even realize he had been carrying. 

They sit in silence for a while longer before she finally yawns and rises to her feet. 

“Come on, back to bed with you. If you get a cold because I let you sit out here too long Ron will be mad.” 

“Not Hermione?” he asks, standing up. 

She laughs, “Hermione will be far more concerned about why you were outside to begin with.” 

He smiles at the thought of them caring about him and follows Ginevra inside. 

⬷

“What really happened in your second year?” he hears himself ask one morning, hands covered in flour. 

Ronald’s head snaps up from where he’s been half dozing over a cup of coffee. 

For a minute he just stares at Draco, eyes wide and pleased. Finally though he blinks away the sleep in his eyes and launches into the story of their second year. Hermione walks in halfway through the story and takes the two of them in. She smiles so brightly he has to blink away spots in his vision. She takes a seat next to Ronald and listens intently as he tells the story. Chiming in occasionally when he gets something wrong. 

The feeling of contentment in his chest grows a little larger. 

⬷

“Does the idea of going back into the manor really not bother you?” he asks one day while she’s reading, cutting her off mid sentence. 

She blinks up at him, still caught up in what she had been reading. He can tell when his question registers because her face goes pale. 

“You don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to.” he says hastily, realizing suddenly that she may not want to talk about that with him of all people. 

“No, no it’s fine, I just wasn’t expecting it.” she says quickly, flapping a hand in his direction and chewing on her bottom lip. “It’s not that it doesn’t bother me,” she starts, hesitates. “It does bother me. I hate the idea of the place and part of the reason it took so long for us to come look for you was because the idea of having to go back to that house had me hyperventilating on the floor.”

He must look horrified because she reaches out a hand to him, eyes worried. He takes her hand, tries to breath the guilt struggling to climb up his throat. 

“It bothers me but I finally made the decision that I cared far more about whether or not you were okay. I don’t want to go there if I don’t have to but Draco…” she pauses again, stares at him, something vicious passing through her eyes. “I’d burn the whole world down to make sure you were safe. To make sure that Ron is safe. Going to that house is nothing compared to the things I would do for you.” 

He stares, breath caught in the back of his throat. He’s never seen this side of her. She’s still staring at him, eyes intense and face hard. 

She ends up curling up next to him and they sit and stare out the window together. He gently places an arm around her shoulders and breathes a little easier when all she does is curl in farther to his side. Maybe he can do this. Maybe they could all be okay. 

⬷

He can’t do this. 

It’s January now. The air cold and the trees dead. He feels more real than he has since fifth year and finds himself missing the strange haze he had spent the last year or two under. He’s close with the two of them in a way that has his head spinning some days. Close in a way that causes him to want to crawl under the covers and never come out. 

They’ve started throwing curious looks at him when he draws away from kisses like he’s been burned. Started noticing that even kisses on the cheek have him flinching because of what he knows they want. 

It’s not the kisses on the cheek bother him. He likes those. They’re sweet and they show that they care. He likes the hugs and the long hours spent cuddling on the couch. Likes watching them sleep, faces calm and peaceful. 

He does not like the idea of what else they may expect from him. Doesn’t know if he can do this but he knows he’s going to have to tell them eventually. Knows they’ll only stay quiet for so long. 

He’d asked Ginevra if she could get everyone else out of the house for a bit. He didn’t know how this conversation was going to go and he didn’t want an audience if it went sideways. She’d stared at him for a long minute, eyes worried but she had agreed to help. 

He breathes in, listens to the quiet of the house for a moment. It’s so rare to really have a quiet moment in this house that he finds himself savoring it. Or procrastinating on the conversation they need to have. 

He sighs, gathers the meager amount of courage he has and heads upstairs. They’re sitting on the bed in the room he’s been sleeping in. Hermione has her head on Ronald’s shoulder, face content. Ronald is staring down at her, face soft and Draco hates this. He doesn’t want to have this conversation. He just wants to go curl up on the bed with them and not think about any of this. 

He steps into the room and they burn turn to look at him, faces lighting up. He draws in another deep breath. 

“We need to talk.” he hears himself say, voice distant as if he’s speaking through a tunnel. 

They both sit up straight immediately, eyes alert and shoulders tense. 

“Are you okay?” Ronald demands, eyes roaming over Draco. 

“I’m fine, nothing bad happened.” he says, tries to smile. It must come off strange because neither of them look comforted by it. “I just need to tell you both something that probably won’t go over well.”

They both blink at him, exchange a glance. 

“I doubt we’ll care like you seem to think we will but come sit down and tell us what it is.” Hermione says, mouth twisted oddly. Twisted into something not quite a smile but also not a snarl.

He sits on the edge of the bed, hands clasped between his legs. He doesn’t want them to see how badly his hands are shaking. Doesn’t want them to know how scared he is. They both frown at him but don’t move any closer. 

“We’re soulmates and I feel that,” his voice breaks and he has to stop and breath for a minute. He breathes in, clears his throat, starts again. “I feel that there are certain expectations you have of me that I can’t meet.” he says, pushing the words out in a rush.

“What expectations?” Ronald asks confusedly. He’s leaning forward, eyes intent on Draco, as if he wants to move closer. 

He pulls in another deep breath. “I don’t like sexual contact.” he blurts out, wishes his heart would stop racing. Wishes his chest would stop feeling so fucking tight. 

There’s a moment of silence where he refuses to look up, away from his hands. And then he feels the bed move slightly before Hermione all but throws herself at him. He wavers, balance thrown off and ends up falling to the side, Hermione still clinging to him, arms around his waist and head buried in his side. 

“You’re so stupid sometimes.” she mutters into his side. 

“I’m not--”

“No, she’s right. For someone who’s so smart you can be just as dumb as Harry sometimes.” Ronald snarks, scooting closer on the bed to stare down at them. 

“Excuse me!” how dare he, “I am nowhere near as stupid as Potter.” 

They both laugh at him, the sound relieved. 

“We’re not with you for sex.” Ronald says, voice heavy. “We’re not even with you because you’re our soulmate at this point. We’re with you because we care about you.” 

His eyes are burning. He wraps an arm around Hermione and pulls her in closer.

“You’re both going to fall off the bed.” Ronald says, laughter in his voice. 

“Oh hush and join us, Ron.” Hermione says, voice thick. 

“I love you.” he says, feel Hermione go still. He doesn’t look to see what Ronald does. “Not like I did when you first showed up at the manor. Not like when I was talking about starlight and flowers and the sky, although I still believe some of those things. I love you and I think… I think I understand what you were saying Hermione, about the things you would do for us. I can’t think of any other people that I would have learned to be brave for. But for the two of you, I’ll do more than be brave. I’ll drag the entire world to its knees if it means keeping you safe.” 

He hears a sharp inhalation and finally looks over to see Ronald staring at him, eyes burning. Hermione’s hands have curled so far into his shirt he thinks it might rip. 

“We love you too.” Hermione, says raising up on elbow to look down at him, eyes vicious and burning. “I love you so much I could spend hours explaining why but I would burn this universe to keep you both safe. You know this.”

For the first time, the sight of her leaning over him doesn’t bring that instinctual panic to his chest. He smiles up at her and watches an answering smile break across her face. 

“I love you both so much it scares me sometimes.” Ronald murmurs, eyes still burning as he stares at us. “I worry about us. About _all_ of us,” he motions towards the door, indicating that he’s talking about his whole family. “But just know that I will do anything to keep you safe.”

He reaches out and grasps the hand that Draco has around Hermione’s waist. They lay there until they hear the sounds of other people filtering through the house. They still don’t move until Ginevra comes bouncing into the room announcing that she has someone for Draco to meet. 

He smiles, not even the thought of meeting this new version of the Dark Lord can dampen his spirits. He’s safe. He’s happy and for the first time in what seems like forever, he doesn’t feel as if the weight of the world is sitting heavy on his shoulders. 

They still have so far to go but he knows they’ll get there eventually. 


End file.
